


A Haunted Motherboard: Cyberpunk Beauty and the Beast

by nebulaethereal



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Belle (Disney), Cyberpunk, Cyborgs, Disney, F/M, First Meetings, France (Country), Gaston (Disney) Being an Asshole, Hurt/Comfort, My First Fanfic, Rescue, Robots, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Build, Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 19:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15322842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulaethereal/pseuds/nebulaethereal
Summary: Our beast is transfigured by a technological magic. Will he earn the companionship of this new visitor, or wither away within the machine of his own making? Belle could save him in more ways than one, but not before she saves herself.(Rated M for later chapters)





	A Haunted Motherboard: Cyberpunk Beauty and the Beast

France has wasted away, at least the provincial parts. What were once quaint villas and suburbs were now shells of homes; the stairways lead nowhere, and the buildings lay gaping. Nestled within these decrepit towns, though, was an art-deco manor constructed to be nothing more than a mote in everyone’s eye. Both garish and nuevo-riche, the manor belonged to a similarly off-putting lord.  
  
While it was seen from the naked eye by nearly anyone within twenty miles, the route to the chateau was a quite formidable maze. From the north, would-be visitors were met with jagged foothills. From the south, a river formed, snaking about the building as a demi-mote. From the east and west, however, there was the maze of trees, dense shrubbery, and intentionally-designed gardens.  
  
As if these obstacles weren’t enough to keep this fortress secret, the monsters within the maze were none other than wolves and dogs, keen on keeping strangers out. To anyone lucky enough to discover the castle, friend or foe, they would now be met with an artifact of architecture; the façade mimicked a cleaved geode. It seems that this haunted cavern has a charm to it, and a dark one. Those inside are contorted, bent, and otherwise assimilated by the building. Framed by the castle’s modern gothic cage of metal buttresses and shattered panes, the unfortunate victims of a curse dwell within.  
  
Inside, glimmering and enchanted, lay the wasted life of a beast.  
  
Years ago, long before the mechanical fallout, and well before our characters meet, two souls are born in France. The first was born into an emaciated industry of electronics and micromachines. The second, we’ll find later, only two towns over.  
  
For now, the world revolved around one man: a prince. This was no ordinary prince, however. He was a prince of industry. Growing up as such, with privilege served to him, silver spoon and all, he had certain standards. From the food he ate, to the company he kept, his standards were astronomical. Why be friends with anyone but the funniest, the richest, and the most beautiful? Some alliances were done out of charity (though the charity would be his own personal gain).  
  
In this art-deco, proto-modern building he found himself at home. With plenty of servants at his beck and call, he was well taken-care of. Surrounding him were the most amicable of friends. They not only wanted to impress him, but it seemed be that this young man could do no wrong. His friends, on the other hand, were human, and made mistakes. If he caught the slightest grievance or misstep, they were gone – excommunicated. No final text, no farewell; ghosted. After all, his beauty, wealth, and ego gave him this right.  
  
While the list of ex-communicated grew longer, he grew hollow, and lonely. Those who had known him, however briefly, had formed a kind of club, bent on turning him into a social pariah. Putting him on the blacklist wasn’t enough, though. With the current political and economic climate being tumultuous at best, the floodgates of revenge were a much-needed pastime for some. For one, it was a personal vendetta.  
  
A scorned admirer, Ray, was bent on destroying this beast of a human from the inside out. Utilizing his connections in the field of nanotech, he found just the way to inflict his death roll, socially at least. Ray, having arrived with his heart on his sleeve and a crush on his mind, was barely given the time of day by our beast among men, before being ousted.  
  
Years may have passed, but none of the rage was forgotten. That same rage was hardly quelled on the night that our story truly began.  
  
Our beast had received a gift; it was from an admirer, no doubt. As he opened it, however, this gift proved nothing more than a box of dust. Unsure of what kind of practical joke this was, he read the card attached: “There is no ghost in this machine.”  
  
The cryptic message left him dumbfounded enough that he didn’t notice the dust had gone. It gathered on his bare feet, up along his ankles, and trailed even higher, before painfully seeking entrance through the pores of his skin.  
  
This young sir, barely thirty, was uncharacteristically beautiful. His skin was unmarred by work or toil, until the particulate machinery burrowed in, bio-forming the cells into metal sheeting. His height was formidable, until the nanites bit at his bones until he was barely five-and-a-half feet tall. Rivets replaced now-useless orifices. Piping and rope lighting took the place of his natural inner-workings. Through the thin, green sheet-metal skin, his entire form glowed from the LED roping throughout him in a network.  
  
Long, wavy hair all but fell out, as the nanites ingested the worthless stuffs for a more appropriate shiny dome. There was a plasticine coating over what was now his refurbished brain, glowing with new and artificial synapses. This was useful, at least according to these busy nanites. This new rewiring changed nothing intrinsic about the man; this changed the abilities of his eyes: he could now see skin deep and beyond, but nothing more. Never again would he have the chance to admire, or abhor, another’s face. Additionally, these new neural connections made it possible for him to speak through his new ‘mouth’. Acting as more of a vent for the hard-working internal components of his wetware, there were now only a few small slits for him to speak through. Tucked away within his out-modded vocal chords were speakers, much more capable of speaking without sarcasm.  
  
He was hardly organic anymore, save for his eyes. They were merely enhanced, lenses replaced with more suitable outfits.  
  
He was the very same man, tucked away in the cramped quarters of this machine shell. This machinery felt no pain, nor did it wear with age as a human form might. No matter the mechanisms at work, the final thing anyone heard from the lord of the manor were the digitized screams of a bitter soul, for miles.


End file.
